PS 3525 
.fl44 115 
1914 
Copy 1 






Copyrighted 1914 by 
MOSES L. MALEVINSKY 

Published May 1914 



FOREWORD. 

This play is written around a feminist — a modern 
woman — a woman who violated the convention of married 
life — a woman who was the immediate cause of her 
husband's suicide — a woman who killed the man who 
furnished the money thiat built her fortune — yet a woman 
whom all who know her story, and who know life, will 
love and respect. 

The Author. 






©CI.D 37020 

mi 13 1914 



^/ 



CAST OF CHAEACTEES. 
Gregory, a butler in the Hawthorne home. 
Celeste, a maid in the Hawthorne home. 
Egbert Hawthorne, owner of the Hawthorne flour mill. 
Hope Hawthorne, his daughter. 
George Burns, a young lawyer, son of John Burns 
Jacques La Salle, a portrait painter. 
Mary Hawthorne, wife of Eobert Hawthorne. 
William Erskine, a banker. 
John Burns, owner of the Burns flour mill. 
Jane, 
Peggy, 
Madeline \ Members of the New York Models' Union. 

and 
Vivian. 

First Court Officer, ) a,^ ^ xi, ^ r^ ^ 

Second Court Officer, [ Attendantsupon the Supreme Court. 
Third Court Officer. ) ^^^ ^ork County. 

Jack Austin, District Attorney, New York County. 
EiCHARD Brewster, Justice of the Supreme Court of New York 

County. 
Arthur Moore, Clerk of the Supreme Court of New York 

County. 
Court Stenographer, Jurors, Mill Hands. 
James Smith, foreman of the Burns mill. 

File Clerk, Winafred Welles. 

1st Stenographer, Maud Price. 

2nd " Mamie Strong. 

3rd " Estelle Forrest. 



Act I. Library in Eobert Hawthorne^s home, East 37th 
Street, New York City. An October evening. 

Act II. Studio of Jacques La Salle, Central Park South, 
New York City. One year later. 

Act III. Supreme Court, New York County, Part I, 
Criminal Branch. Three months later. 

Act IV. The John Burns flour mill, East Eiver, near New 
York end Brooklyn Bridge. (The morning after the jury is 
instructed.) 

Time: The present. , 



ACT I. 

Discovery : 

Gregory — Celeste — - in library, Robert Hawthorne's 
home. 

Gregory. 

This is a tiresome life — always waiting on someone. 

Celeste. 
I'll be fired Saturday. 

Gregory. 
Why? 

Celeste. 
Month's up. 

Gregory. 
Why fired? 

Celeste. 
Breaking that miniature. 

Gregory. 
How did it happen, anyway? 

Celeste. 
Didn't see it — dusting Mrs. Hawthorne's dresser — just as 
Ihings usually happen — when they fall — generally break. 

Gregory. 
That's no cause to fire you. 

Celeste. 
Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne are all broke up about it. 

Gregory. 
You were careless. 

Celeste. 
I hadn't broken a thing in a year. 

Gregory. 
Oh, you won't be fired. 

Celeste. 
I'd be blue for sure if I am. 

Gregory. 
So would I. 

Celeste. 
Mrs. Hawthorne has been awfully good to me — no driving — 
no scolding — she's a sweet woman — so fair to everybody. 

Gregory. 
That's so — she's square — that's why you won't go. 

Celeste. 
I don't know — she's worried — she's brooding over it. 



2 

Gregory. 
That will pass away. 

Celeste. 
She said to me today it was an evil omen — whatever that 
means. 

Gregory. 
Means a bad sign. 

Celeste. 
That's how I take it — bad sign for me. 

(The bell rings and Gregory admits Eobert Hawthorne.) 

Hawthorne. 
My, but it's a frosty night. Is my wife at home? 

Celeste. 
No, sir, Mrs. Hawthorne said she might be very late — that 
you should not worry, sir. 

Hawthorne. 
I hate to come home and not find my wife at home — did 
she say where she was going? 

Celeste. 
To the Duffy s sir — young Duffy's arm was cut off yesterday. 

Hawthorne. 
Yes, I know. 

Celeste. 
Mrs. Hawthorne intended chopping some for the Duffys sir. 

Hawthorne. 
Yes. 

Celeste. 
She felt sure that they would be in need of food and clothing, 
sir. 

Gregory. 
No doubt, Mr. Hawthorne — young Duffy losing his arm in 
the mill will make it very hard for that family this winter. 

Hawthorne. 
Yes — Mrs. Duffy is a widow, and has three small children 
besides Joe. 

Gregory. 
Too bad. 

Hawthorne. 
Joe is only nineteen years old. It's a said misadventure. 

(The bell rings and Gregory admits La Salle.) 
(Gregory and Celeste retire.) 

La Salle. 
Ah! Good evening, Mr. Hawthorne. I finished repairing 
your wife's miniature today. I thought you would be anxious to 
see it — I am very proud of my work. It is almost perfect — just 
take a look. 



Hawthorne. 

I sincerely hope the work is well done — the breaking of that 
miniature chills me to the marrow every time I think of it. 

La Salle. 
Are you superstitious? 

Hawthorne. 
N"ot exactly — but I have been dreading ill luck ever since it 
happened — I don't know why. 

La Salle. 
Some people are superstitious about a thing of this kind. 

Hawthorne. 
My ! It's a beautiful piece of work ! Can the break be 
detected in any degree — I do not seem able to discover it — no, 
[ do not see a sign of it. 

La Salle. 
It cannot be seen with the naked eye — of course, with this 
glass you can see it. 

Hawthorne. 
Yes — with the glass — it — is^ — very — plain. 

La Salle. 
That's the rub — you will always know the break is there. 

Hawthorne. 
It's a misfortune. 

La Salle. 
You may mend; you may paint; you may repair — but, like 
a broken ideal, the knowledge of its fracture makes the loss the 
more real. 

Hawthorne. 
This hangs over me like a pall. 
La Salle. 
You must forget it. 

Hawthorne. 
I'd give five years of my life if this thing hadn^t happened. 

La Salle. 
But it has happened — why worry? 
Hawthorne. 
Something tells me all is not well. 
La Salle. 
(Handling the miniature.) 
Your wife is a very beautiful woman. You must be very 
happy. 

Hawthorne. 
Yes, we are very happy. My wife and I have never had 
what you would really call a quarrel in all the twenty years that 
we have been married. 



La Salle. 
That is very beautiful. 

Hawthorne. 
My wife has never said an unkind thing to me in her life. 

La Salle. 
You must love her very much. 

Hawthorne. 
I do, very much — why have you never married, La Salle? 

La Salle. 
Oh, I don't know — maybe I've painted too many modern 
women. 

Hawthorne. 
I should think in that way you would learn to be a good 
judge of character. You might make a much better selection. 

La Salle. 
One likewise more readily discovers imperfections. 

Hawthorne. 
It wouldn't do if there was too much perfection in women. 

La Salle. 
It is not essential to have perfection. However, one's point 
of view becomes narrowed fixing up the wrinkles and seams. 

Hawthorne. 
You don't know the joy and happiness of being married to 
a good, noble and wholesome woman — my life would be an aching 
void but for my wife. 

La Salle. 
Oh, I know what a happy married life means. 

Hawthorne. 
But you were never, married. 

La Salle. 
No, but I was brought up by very thrify, sober and decent 
parents. 

Hawthorne. 
Then you do know. 

La Salle. 
A happy home — yes, indeed; there is nothing in the world 
like it. 

Hawthorne. 
You must miss it. 

La Salle. 
Sometimes I am — very — very — lonesome — now, if I had a 
wife like yours — 

Hawthorne. 
(Lights a cigarette after La Salle takes one. Hawthorne 
seats himself in a big arm-chair near gas log, La Salle 
standing back a little.) 



Mary is a wonderful girl — she has been a wonderful wife 
to me — you know, La Salle, I inherited that mill — it never was 
any good; it almost broke my father — 

La Salle. 
Is that so? I thought you constructed it. 

Hawthorne. 
I should say not; that mill was almost a noose around my 
neck. 

La Salle. 
Who saved you from the hangman? 

Hawthorne. 
Mary — I remember — as if it were yesterday — when she 
asserted her right — to help me fight the battle — came into the 
fray, as it were. 

La Salle. 
She is a very smart woman. 

Hawthorne. 
Little Hope was just six years old — our little boy, Tad, 
had died — Mary worshipped Tad — a little golden haired kid of 
a boy — it almost broke her heart — poor girl. 

La Salle. 
How did she come to take a hand and an interest in your 
mill? 

Hawthorne. 
It was like this — we had been having a great many strikes 
in the mill — the panic came on — I was in a hard row of stumps — 
blue — indigo is a pale shade compared to my complexion at that 
time. 

La Salle. 
Well, naturally she would give you moral encouragement. 

Hawthorne. 
She did much more than that. I was just about ready to 
give up the ship — when she took the helm. 

La Salle. 
Was she a good sailor? 

Hawthorne. 
I should say so — it's been a hard, uphill fight — but she is 
a brick. Some time in 1908 I made her Treasurer of the mill. 

La Salle. 
She didn't know anything about financing, did she? 

Hawthorne. 
Finest little financier you ever knew. She's floated every 
bond issue — we doubled the capacity of our mill twice — never 
missed a payroll — have a fine credit in the big banks — we 
discount all our purchases — pay spot cash for all our supplies — 
all her work. 



6 

La Salle. 
She must be a wizard. 

Hawthorne. 

She is wonderful. 

(Hope comes down stairway in hall and enters library, 
running up to her father and kissing him.) 

Hope. 
Hello, dad. Good evening, Mr. La Salle — how is my bully 
old dad? My, but Vm excited! 

Hawthorne. 
What about? 

La Salle. 
Yes, tell us what's in the wind. 

Hope. 
I had the greatest time of my sweet young life this after- 
noon. 

Hawthorne and La Salle. 
(Together.) 
What did you do? 

Hope. 
Organized a Union — you bet — that's what I did. 

La Salle. 
Union of what? 

Hope. 
Working girls — models — lots of them know you, Mr. La 
Salle — some I met have posed for you — 

Hawthorne. 
Now, La Salle, you are in for trouble. 

Hope. 
A dandy lot of girls — you ought to have heard my speech — 
let me tell you — girls are wonderful- — 

La Salle. 
There are wonderful girls in the world — no doubt about 
that. 

Hope. 
You'd be surprised to Imow how many of those girls are 
sending money home to their mothers. 

Hawthorne. 
What did you discuss? 

Hope. 
Suffrage — woman's rights — ^you know, dad, there is some- 
thing terribly wrong with the world when girls have to be 
sending money home to their mothers. 

La Salle. 
Why not? , , ;. 



Hope. 
What's the matter with their fathers? 

Hawthorne. 
Poor fathers! 

Hope. 
And what do you think, dad, I have prevailed on George 
Burns to make his maiden public speech tonight. He's going 
to address the Models' Union on Woman's Suffrage. I am 
expecting him here now every minute. 

(The bell rings and Gregory admits Mrs. Hawthorne and 
George Burns. They enter the library.) 

Mary. 

Hello, Robert — how is everybody — Hope, dear, I happened 
to meet Mr. Burns at the door. He says he is going to take 
you to Hyacinth Hall — meeting of some kind — tell me. The car 
is at the door — you had better use it. 

Hope. 

Yes, mother, we finally organized the Models' Union this 
afternoon and George is going to make his first public speech — 
isn't it splendid — George, I wonder what your father will say 
when he finds out what's going on. 

George Burns. 

Father is running his mill — I am running my law office — 
incidentally myself — when a fellow gets his law going through 
a night law school, after working all day — he knows that a flour 
mill isn't the only kind of a mill — there aren't anything but 
mills in this world, and you've got to grind and grind and grind. 

La Salle. 

Or be ground. 

Hope. 

George, we had better go to the meeting. It might get 
away from us. You know some of those girls don't believe in 
votes for women. Goodnight, mother; goodnight, dad. 

(Hope kisses her parents goodnight.) 
Goodnight, Mr. Ua Salle. 

Mary. 
Don't stay out too late, Hope. 

George Burns. 
I'll take good care of Miss Hope, Mrs. Hawthorne. 

Hope. 
Thank you. We believe in women taking care of themselves, 
don't we, mother? 

(Burns and Hope leave.) 

Hawthorne. 
Mary, La Salle has returned your miniature. He deserves 
your warmest congratulations. The work is fine. 



8 

Mary. 

It does seem to be perfectly put together, doesn't it — ^but, 
the pity of it all — Eobert, dear — you and I will always know it 
was broken — we will always know. 

Hawthorne. 

^ever mind, sweetheart, tell me about your day. Tell me 
about the Duffys. How is Joe? 

(Aside to La Salle.) 

You know, La Salle, we have had a most painful experience. 
An accident happened in our mill a few days ago. One of our 
young fellows was so severely injured his arm had to be cut off. 

La Salle. 
That is unfortunate. 

Mary. 
Robert, it is heart-rending to see that poor boy's suffering. 

Hawthorne. 
Is he still in pain? He ought not have any pain. 

Mary. 
Yes, intense — largely mental — still suffering from the shock 
of the amputation. He has a very weak heart. He is a very 
handsome boy — very brave. The doctors couldn't give him an 
anaesthetic on account of his heart. 

Haavthorne. 
I feel frightfully sorry for him and his family. 

Mary. 
He begged me, if anvthing happened to him, to take good 
care of his mother and little sisters. Robert, it is dreadful ! 

Hawthorne. 
It is dreadful. 

Mary. 
There can be no further argument about the proposition. 
My determination is irrevocable. We must sell those bonds. 
That will provide ample laoney to install the new machinery. 
We must adopt every possible safeguard so that a thing of this 
kind will not happen again; common humanity demands that we 
do this without delay. 

Hawthorne. 
But we can't sell $100,000 worth of bonds at this time for 
any such purpose — the money market is very tight. 

Mary. 
I know that we can sell them. 

Hawthorne. 
I think it will be impossible to finance this sale for such 
a purpose this year. 

Mary. 
It can be done, and it will be done. 



9 



Hawthorne. 
La Salle, what do you think of the general financial 
situation ? 

La Salle. 
I have very grave doubt — the country is not in a very 
prosperous condition. 

Hawthorne. 
Besides, Mary, competitive conditions at this time do not 
justify an expenditure for such a purpose. 

Mary. 
It is the same old argument — ^man's false sense of economy — 
the dollar as against the man — profits as against life and limb. 
My dear, you are too broad a man — too big for such thought. 
Xow you won't, will you? 

Hawthorne. 
I am afraid your heart is running away with your head. 

Mary. 
Not at all — it is only my sense of justice tells me that we 
must be fair to those who are helping us build our fortune. 
Their security must be considered. 

Hawthorne. 
Until this one, we have had no accident in our mill for a 
long time — it seems to me that this safety machinery can wait. 

Mary. 
We will not wait, Eobert — furthermore, on the first of the 
year we must put into execution our plan for a service and old 
age pension. 

Hawthorne. 
You mean your plan, Mary — not ours. This accident to 
young Duffy has made you lose all sense of proportion. How 
much pounding do you think the mill will stand? 

Mary. 
Why do you say I am pounding the mill? 

Hawthorne. 
Because you don't seem to realize that in these difficult 
times you can't always do just what you would like to do. We 
must guard and conserve until things are easier. What do you 
think, La Salle? 

La Salle. 
Why my judgment on your proposition really isn't worth 
anything. I'm a poor business man — that's why I'm always 
broke. 

Mary. 
There is no danger to our mill. We are as strong as 
Gibraltar, all things considered. It is true we have a large bond 
issue, but our resources are five to one and we are making a 
great deal of money. 



10 

Hawthorne. 
Grant all that you say — it is likewise true that the 
strongest institution can be pulled down — the greatest ship 
afloat may sink if it strikes a rock. 

Mary. 
We are not going to strike any rock. 

Hawthorne. 
I hope not, dear, for your sake. There are lots of things 
a woman never can analyze or dissect. There is a sullen under- 
■^-urrent among the mill hands. 

Mary. 
In what respect? 

Hawthorne. 
They want more pay. Your last year's ten per cent, increase 
is forgotten. There is considerable agitation among the families 
of the mill workers. The women are egging the men on. 

Mary. 
All right, that must be looked into. They must have what's 
fair Those who help create must share that which is created. 

Hawthorne. 
Burns is cutting prices again. That man will run me wild. 
His competition is something fierce. Do you know, lots of the 
trade think Burns makes the best flour in the world! 

Mary. 
Great for Burns. 

Hawthorne. 
I am going to force him to sell out to us. He has been 
very ugly lately. I have heard of a good many threats made by 
him. I will need all the money we can raise to buy his mill. 
He is coming here tonight. I telephoned him today that I 
wanted to see him on important business. 

Mary. 
You have no right to force John Burns to sell his mill to 
you; that isn't right; it isn't fair. Eobert, what we should do 
is to help Burns all we can, and work in harmony. 

Hawthorne. 
What visionary nonsense, Mary. Great commercial enter- 
prises are not built up that way. I don't want to hurt Burns, 
but you and I have been dreaming and planning big things. 
Unless we control and concentrate, how can we expect to endow 
that hospital, as we have planned? 

Mary. 
The hospital must not be built on the ruins of John Burns' 
milL 

Hawthorne. 
Your theories are poetic — your logic pathetic. Forbearance 
in the world of trade never cemented a brick or bolted a girder. 



11 



Sentiment is all right in its way, but if you and I want to 
accomplish anything really worth while for humanity we must 
have big money. Would any of the great philanthropists have 
been possible but for gigantic, aggregated wealth? 

Mary. 

It is not giving, in the proper sense, to give that which 3rou 
had no right to take in the first instance. 

Hawthorne. 

Nevertheless, it takes concentration — economy — elimination 
of competition — earnings — to secure real money, — and it takes 
real money to endow hospitals. 

Mary. 

I saw Erskine this morning, and he has practically agreed 
to underwrite the new issue of bonds. He promised to let me 
know tonight. 

(The bell rings and G-regory admits Erskine.) 
Here is Mr. Erskine now. 

Erskine. 
The bonds are all right — $100,000 at par — have them issued 
and our firm will place them. 

Mary. 
That is splendid. Now we can put in the new machinery. 

La Salle. 
These bankers charm money out of the blue sky. 

Hawthorne. 
That's why they call the new laws the "blue sky laws.'' 

La Salle. 
How odd it all is — a woman wills it, and forthwith the 
money gushes forth! I never could raise money that way. 

Hawthorne. 
You ought to have an inspiration of a wife! 

Erskine. 
A good looking and a clever one. 

Mary. 
Shall we have the pleasure of your company, gentlemen, for 
dinner. 

Erskine. 
No. I must be at the Union Club in fifteen minutes. 

La Salle. 
I should have been in my studio an hour ago. 

Erskine. 
My chauffeur will drive you there, La Salle. 

La Salle. 
All right. Goodnight. 

Erskine. 
G-oodnight. 



12 

Mary and Egbert. 
Goodnight. 

(Erskine and La Salle leave.) 

Mary. 
Shall we have dinner now? 

Egbert. 
N'o — I am going to stay here and wait for Bnrns. 1 have 
made up my mind to have it out with him tonight. If I can 
get rid of his unfriendly competition I am going to do so. I have 
made up my mind to make him sell. Then we will have a pretty 
clear field. 

Mary. 
I am sorry you take this stand. Do be reasonable with 
Burns. He is not a young man any more. Try and see his side. 

(The bell rings and Gregory admits John Burns.) 

Jghn Burns. 
Good evening, Hawthorne; good evening, Mrs. Hawthorne. 
Too bad about the accident to young Duffy. I hear they are 
going to sue you for $30,000. 

Mary. 
I don't believe that possible. I saw them this evening. 
I told them we would pay whatever was fair and proper. They 
were very friendly and very grateful. 

Burns. 
Just the same, Mrs. Duffy employed Judge Marshall today 
to sue you. I heard that on good authority. 
Egbert Hawthgrne. 
Ah, Mary — foolish woman! When will you ever learn any- 
thing about the working classes? 

Mary. 
I always have believed in the poor people. I always will 
believe in the poor people. God made the poor people. Man 
and his artificial laws make the rich ones. 

(Mary retires.) 

Burns. 

Well, I'll be damned! Hawthorne, your wife must have a 
dual personality. Isn't your wife a feminist and a suffragette? 

Hawthorne. 
Yes, Mary is a suffragette and a feminist. 

Burns. 
Well, those women are driving the world straight to hell. 

Hawthorne. 
You don't think that. 

Burns. 
I think just that. I heard an argument between a lot of 



13 

men in the mill the other day. One said: "Men are just dogs." 
Another said : "So are the women.'^ Another fellow said : "As 
between man and woman, it is getting to be a case of dog eat 
dog.^' 

Hawthorne. 
You know no decent man said that. 

BUBNS. 

You are much mistaken, Hawthorne — this woman's move- 
ment has set a lot of good men to thinking. You get out among 
men and hear them talk. They say worse than that. 

Hawthorne. 

All that women want is the right to vote — the right to be 
heard in their government — why shouldn't they? They pay 
taxes — they have just as much brains as men — they are more 
moral. 

Burns. 

You don't know a damn thing about it — not one in five will 
ever vote if you let them. Women don't want political equality — 
they want sex equality — divorces — free love — no children — no 
homes — no firesides. It's all wrong and its's rotten. 

Hawthorne. 

Xo power on earth can keep women from securing the right 
to vote. You let negroes vote — criminals and ignorant men vote 
•^drunkards — and those who haven't a dollar on earth vote — why 
shouldn't women vote? 

Burns. 

If the vote was the beginning and the end of the woman's 
movement, it wouldn't cut much figrure one way or another. 
The demand to vote is only a symptom of a deep-seated disease — 
a cancer that is gnawing at the vitals of our social life. 

Hawthorne. 

Only narrow-minded, selfish and congenitally crooked minds 
think that. Woman is the prop of the world. 

Burns. 

Woman, in her proper sphere, is the prop of the world. Her 
proper sphere is the home, — as daughter, sweetheart, wife, mother. 
When she leaves the home, she leaves the sanctuary of life. The 
home is the holy of holies. 

Hawthorne. 

Woman is not leaving her home. She is only broadening 
her influence. 

Burns. 

She is deadening and damning her influence. She is coming 
into fierce competition ^Wth men. She is taking by virtue of her 
sex, an unfair and an unnatural advantage of social and economic 
laws. As men are awakening to what the woman's movement 
means, they are beginning to have hatred and contempt where 



u 

once there was love and veneration. It means the destruction 
of civilization, — that^s what it means. 

Hawthorne. 
Burns, you're an old crank and a pessimist. I'll make you 
a good proposition. Sell me your mill. I'll give you a good 
price. You can then retire. You won't have to compete with or 
worry about women. Why you — you — you can travel — that's it, 
travel — travel — see the world — take things ea/sy. 

Burns. 
Hawthorne, I will never — never sell you my mill. That's 
my mill. I planned that mill when I was a boy — almost sixty 
years ago. That was the dream of my youth — to be a miller 
— manufacture the staff of life. Why, Hawthorne, milling flour 
is my religion. See how we crush the grain of wheat — sift and 
shake out the chaff — cleanse — purify — perfect ! Why that's just 
the way a human being is purified and perfected — crushed — . 
sifted — shaken — cleansed. Hawthorne, that's the story of the 
cross; that's life that's death; that's the resurrection! 

Hawthorne. 
See here. Burns, that's all very philosophical, but damn it, — 
competition between our two mills is sapping our vitals. Both 
mills can't continue, as we are going. One or the other must 
sell, and it's best for you to sell. 

Burns. 
You think because you have the largest mill — the most 
money, of a certain kind — that I must give in to you. Well, 
damn you, I won't ! I know more about milling flour than you 
can ever know. 

Hawthorne. 
You are pigheaded, that's all; you can't survive. Come now, 
be reasonable. I tell you what I'll do: I'll give you $150,000 
for your plant and good will. 

Burns. 
What good would that do me? I owe almost that much. 

Hawthorne. 
How much do you owe? 

Burns. 
That is none of your business. 

Hawthorne. 
But I'll raise my offer. I will put you on easy street. 

Burns. 
I never lived on that street in my life. I never expect to. 

Hawthorne. 
Let me help you. 

Burns. 
I don't trust you, Hawthorne. You have never given me 
a square deal. You cut corners. You take my best men away 



15 



from me. You keep raising wages. You make my workmen 
dissatisfied. Last year you took my foreman, James Smith, 
away from me. He was the best foreman I ever had. I have 
had trouble ever since. ' 

Hav^thorne. 
What is there improper in my taking a good man if it 
helps me — helps the riian as well? In other words, if I can do a 
little better by a worlonan — for his good — my good — incidentally, 
it may not be for youl" good. 

Buries. 
Do you call that fair and square ? I don^t. 

Hawthorne. 
Certainly it is fair and' square. You are selfish in wanting 
to retain him, — I selfish in securing him. We are both looking 
out for our own interest. The workman is entitled to look out 
i'or his interest. 

Burns. 
I have never interfered with your workmen. 

Hav^thorne. 
The trouble with you. Burns, is — you are not a business 
man. You lack ability and foresight. You are not a good 
financier. You have no initiative, no daring; you whine and 
curse your luck. You say it is luck, and that I mistreat you, 
when it is you alone who is to blame. 

Burns. 
I am a better business man than you. 

Hawthorne. 

You are a failure. Your career shows it. All of your 
opportunities have gone by. I am giving you a chance to get 
out. I'll make my offer large enough to give you a splendid 
fixed income. 

Burns. 
I don't want your proposition — no part of it — I want you 
and your wife to let me alone. 

Hawthorne. 
What has my wife got to do with you? 

Burns. 
I would have no trouble competing with you, if it was man 
against man. I would liave had you whipped years ago. A man 
can battle with a man, but no man can battle with another man 
plus a woman. 

Hawthorne. 
True, I have had the assistance of my wife. She is, and 
has been, a great help to me; but how — in what way — does she 
enter between you and me — she has never wronged you. 

Burns. 
It isn't fair. The game isn't fair. You are playing with 



16 



marked cards. A man has no chance in competition with a 
woman. jSTo man can compete with a woman. Your wife gets 
the sinews of war — money — money — money — that enables yon 
10 fight me — to aim to strangle and destroy me. It is going 
too far. It has got to stop. I, or no other man, can compete 
with sex. 

Hawthorne. 
What in the world are yon talking about? 

Burns. 
What am I talking about? Don^t you know what I am 
talking about? Don't you know what everybody knows — what 
everybody says — ^hears? Ha! ha! My God, man, are you deaf, 
dumb and blind? 

Hawthorne. 
Damn you. Burns, what do you mean? 

Burns. 
Your wife ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Your credit ! Your initiative ! 
Your daring ! Ha ! ha ! Why your wife has belonged to Erskine 
for years ! You wonderful man ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Hawthorne. 
You lie! You lie! You damned cur! You lie. I'll kill 
vou for this, so help me God, you damned cur! 

(They clinch and struggle. In the struggle Hawthorne 
falls and Burns goes away, shouting and laughing at 
Hawthorne.) 

Watch your wife, not me! 

(Hawthorne, dazed and trembling, totters and rings for 
Gregory.) 

(Gregory appears.) 

Hawthorne. 
Gregory, call Mrs. Hawthorne for me. 

(Gregory leaves.) 

Can this be possible? No, no, it cannot be. Life would 
be as black as hell. It cannot be! It cannot be! 

Mary. 
What is the trouble, Eobert? Please tell me — ^what is the 
trouble? What has happened? 

(Hawthorne is sullen and silent — finally speaks.) 

Mary — Mary — my Mary! Look at me, Mary! No, it is a 
lie! Mary, I worship you! Oh, my little Hope — no, it is a 
lie — it is not so! Til shoot him tonight — tonight — shoot him 
like the cur that he is! 

Mary. 

Robert, what are you raving about ? Tell me, won't you / 



17 



Hawthorne. 

How can 1 tell you? Mary, I'm a man. Have I ever 
wronged yon? I love yon more than life. Xo, it is a lie — I 
know it is a lie — it could not be true — no, I won't tell you. Why 
it would be dishonorable to have a doubt! I'll kill him — I'll 
kill him tonight. Let me go — I say let me go! 

Maey. 

You are not going to leave this house until you tell me what 
this is all about. \ATiom are you going to shoot — kill — what for? 
I am your wife. I have a right to know. Think of me — think 
of Hope — all these years I have been struggling — fighting — 
fighting for you, Eobert, and Hope — for humanity — now you 
talk of killing someone. What for? Don't you see this will 
involve all that you hold dear? You must confide in me. Let 
me help you. Can't you trust me? 

Hawthorne. 

That's just it, Mary — I do trust you — and this wicked, 
low-lived dog said I should not trust you. He assailed your 
honor and I'm going to kill him — the dog that he is — tonight — 
let me go! 

Mary. 

Who said it, and what did he say? 
Hawthorne. 

Burns — Burns — Burns — say — say — said I was deaf, dumb 
and blind. My God, Mary, I can't stand this ! He said you had 
belonged to Erskine for years. His charge, as I understand it, 
was that I was selling you to Erskine for money — good Grod — 
why do you — shrink — hesitate — speak out, woman ! It will drive 
me mad! 

Mary. 

Eobert, you do not understand. You cannot understand — 
you cannot! Let me tell you. 

Hawthorne. 

Why what is there to understand? I would rather be torn 
to pieces, limb by limb, — I would rather be dead and in hell 
than that you — my wife — the only human being in the world 
that I trust — my Mary — should debase me. Can it be? 

Mary. 

You have got to bear with me! You must hear me! For 
many years I have tried to tell you. I have prayed to God 
every day to show me how, to tell me what to do. You are a 
man. You men never hear women speak. Yon don't know 
an5rthing about women. You won't listen — ^you won't hear or 
learn — you only see the man's side — and with men there is no — 
there has never been — a woman's side. 

Hawthorne. 

What are you talking about? You must be crazy! 



18 



Mary. 
I am not crazy. I want you to hear what I have to say. 
T am not a bad woman^ — I am not a criminal — I am not even an 
immoral woman — won^t yon listen to me? 

Hawthorne. 
How, in the name of all that honor holds dear, can yon have 
anything to say that will excuse what you, in effect, admit — you 
have lost your mind ! 

Mary. 
I haven^t lost my mind. I am just as sane as you are. 
You are a rugged, brave, strong, logical man, and I love you — God 
knows I love you. N'O matter what the future holds for us, I will 
always love you. I want you to hear me out. 

Hawthorne. 
Go on — go on — I can never forgive you — I cannot forget — 
I am not that kind of a man. I have always been true to you. 
I cannot stand against Burns' charge. The world is black — inky 
black! 

Mary. 
What do you men think a woman is ? Throughout the ages 
you have held woman as a chattel, a vassal — a slave. Do you 
men ever stop to think that up to fifty years ago you practically 
denied woman the right of education? Then, almost in a flash, 
civilization puts woman in the furnace of life — trade — the fires 
burn! Don't you know woman is just an animal, the same as 
man is an animal? 

Hawthorne. 
For pity's sake, woman, what has all this to do with you 
and me? Are you mad? 

Mary. 
Oh, Eobert, come over here; sit down; let me show you, 
logically and analytically, that there is a woman's side. 

Hawthorne. 
Mary ! Mary ! Mary ! 

Mary. 
You and I married twenty years ago. Oh, we were so 
happy — you and I. Our little boy and girl came. Then I lived 
in paradise. God took Tad from me — I don't know why. You 
know I became restless. I wanted to do something to divert 
my mind — I became ambitious. I saw more and more of your 
troubles and struggles. I did not want to be a parasite. 

Hawthorne. 
Yes, I know all that. 

Mary. 
You were gallant. You always favored women and women's 
progress. You encouraged me in my ambition. 

Hawthorne. 
Yes. 



19 

Mary. 
I took hold of affairs. You consulted me — adopted many of 
my suggestions — I became enthusiastic. 

Hawthorne. 
Yes. 

Mary. 
Unconsciously — you may never have realized it — you began 
to lean on me — depend on my judgment — I became more and 
more aggressive. 

Hawthorne. 
What has all this to do with your honor? 

Mary. 
Listen please — hear me! 

Hawthorne. 
I am going to hear every word that you have to say. 

Mary. 
Helping in breadwinning brought me in contact with the 
world — man's world — your world — a cold, calculating world — a 
subtle and a ruthless one — where woman hasn't a chance for 
her life. 

Hawthorne. 
Yes, go on. 

Mary. 
You permitted me to receive the attention of men. Don't 
you remember the first time I met Erskine? 

Hawthorne. 
1^0. When? Where? How? 

Mary. 
With you. You introduced me to William Erskine — banker 
--multi-millionaire — man of the world — at Sherry's five years 
ago. He called at our homo shortly thereafter — upon your 
invitation, not mine. 

Hawthorne. 
Yes, now that you recall it, I remember — that is right. 

Mary. 

You permitted him to call often. I know at first you were 

always at home — afterwards not. You permitted him to send — 

me to receive — flowers by the basket — the rarest orchids — 

candies — jewelry — elaborate — expensive — you never said a word. 

Hawthorne. 
Yes, that's so. 

Mary. 
We got in the habit of going to the opera. I know you 
went with us at first, and then you were bored and you 
encouraged me to go alone with Erskine. 



20 

Hawthokne. 
But, Mary, decent men do that all the time. Society per- 
mits those things. That is no excuse. 

Mary. 
Society is a delusion and a snare — a spider's web — you 
made me Treasurer of the Hawthorne Mill. 

•Hawthorne. 
Yes. 

Mary. 
I took an active interest in your business affairs — negotiated 
loans — met commercial and financial magnates. 

Hawthorne. 
Yes — yes. 

Mary. 
We got in the habit of going to week-end house parties — 
country homes — close association — men and women of the world. 

Hawthorne. 
That is a very common custom in society. 

Mary. 
You remember the time you were traveling in the West — you 
were away almost all that Spring. There was a house party ten 
days at Pineville — Erskine was there. You know he is a 
handsome, courteous, gallant man — tremendous magnetism and 
personality. We were building the west wing to our mill — having 
some difficulty in selling our bonds. I induced him to under- 
write them — $250,000 worth — I was thrown much in his society. 
He is a very captivating man to a woman. The negotiations 
were hanging fire at the time. He is subtle. He was the man^ — 
T the woman. I learned something that every woman ought to 
know before she offers battle to the world. 

Hawthorne. 
Go on ! Gro on ! 

Mary. 
When a woman goes into the market-place to trade — buy or 
sell — she cannot separate herself from her sex. I thought she 
could- Lots of beautiful, wholesome, well-intentioned women 
think she can, but she can't. A woman is an animal just like 
a man — just as weak — perhaps weaker — when she lays herself 
open to the strategy of man's cupidity — passion — attack. When 
a man trades with a woman, consciously or unconsciously, he 
trades for her soul. 

Hawthorne. 
My God, woman, you're mad! 

Mary. 
It may be called madness, but I am telling you the truth. 
You may not believe it, but what 1 say is the truth. God made 
men and women that way. Oh, Eobert, please — you know that 



21 

r am a good woman — my love and ambition for you — my child — 
for place and power. That is the price the woman pays. Woman 
knows the price. She that does not know has not won. There 
may be an exception now and then — that but proves the rule. 
The many never win — but know. 

Hawthorne. 
And this is the end. It has come to this: I am a man. 
I thought I was a real man. Women are to be pitied; men 
despised. Mary, it's horrible. I forgive you. As for me — I 
cannot face the future. I am a weakling. I cannot face 
tomorrow. 

(HaT\i:horne starts for his den, just off the library. Mary 
follows him. He pushes her from him. She follows. They 
struggle. He reaches the den. She pleads. A shot is heard 
as the curtain falls.) 

(End of Act I.) 



22 



^ ACT II. 

Scene: 

Jacques La Salle's Studio, Central Park, South, New York 
City. One year intervenes between Act I and II. 

Discovery as curtain rises: 

Four models — Peggy and Jane standing — Viyian and 
Madeline seated. 

» 
Jane. 
Yivian, you are Chairman of the Committee. You should 
make the main argument. We will help out when necessary. 

Peggy. 
And don't be afraid — our Union now numbers 190 members. 
We are entitled to certain rights. We should have them. 

Madeline. 
Ever}^ one of these artists must be made to understand we 
are going to stand firmly for our interests and protection. 
La Salle is a man of great influence. We must try and get him 
on our side. 

Jane. 
We have been organized now for a year. We haven't made 
much headway — no increase in pay so far. We must have living 
wages. 

YlVIAN. 

What points do you think I had better cover? You know 
if we demand too much we may never get anything. 

Jane. 
The main point is more pay. We must have more pay. 
N'one of us saves anything to speak of. 

Peggy. 
I think one of the main points — our girls should have better 
protection. Some of our girls, lately, are having terrible times 
with their employers — the moral stuff — make that strong — I hate 
men, anyway ! 

Madeline. 
I hate women worse. 

YlVIAN. 

Girls, tell me, honest — what do you think of men, anyway? 

Jane. 

I never think about the in en — most of the time I am too busy 
trying to make a living. When I am through with that I am too 
tired to think about anything or anybody. 



23 

Peggy. 

What do women think about women? 

Madeline. 
That's where the trouble all comes in — women are all cats! 

Peggy. 
Why, Madeline, aren't you ashamed? 

Madeline. 
That's what they are. Believe me — I never trust a woman. 

Vivian. 
I heard Bona Vista say yesterday women are natural born 
thieves. 

Peggy. 
The devil he did. 

Vivian. 
You know him — a dandy fellow — he knows women pretty well, 
all right — says he never saw or knew a bachelor girl who wouldn't 
steal another woman's husband — if she could! 

Jane. 
I don't call that stealing — that isn't stealing. 

Vivian. 
What is it — praying? 

Peggy. 
Yes, what is it, anyway? 

Madeline. 
That's it. What is it — and take it from me — it's pretty 
near true. If I ever get a husband, I, for one, will never 
introduce him to any girl. 

Vivian. 
I guess it's stealing, all right. 

Jane. 
But the code permits it — no law against it. 

Madeline. 
That's the trouble — women listen to men — ever know a man 
who would not make love to a pretty girl? Women should not 
listen. 

Vivian. 
A man's medley — my wife is not the girl I should have 
married — we are not mated — my wife lacks atmosphere — she 
isn't a pal — I'm hooked wrong — they all sing it! 

Peggy. 
But a girl is bad who lets a man tell her that sort of stuff. 

Jane. 
It isn't the women — it's the men. 

Vivian. 
How so? 



24 

Jane. 

Men are born vultures — it's just the nature of the brute to 
prey on women. Every man is more or less of a gunman with 
women. 

Vivian. 
Wait till we get the ballot. 

Madeline. 
We'll show the world a thing or two! 

Peggy. 
We'll reform things. 

Jane. 
I don't know if we will, — at that. I hope so, but sometimes, 
deep down in my heart, I doubt it. Women haven't any logic. 
We are all silly. You know, girls, vromen were made to be made 
love to. 

Vivian. 
That's it; to have a Billy; to bill and coo. I never could 
figure it all out. 

Madeline. 
^ow in practice — addition — subtraction — it's funny. 

Peggy. 
How? 

Madeline. 
Add a woman to a man — 

Peggy. 
Well? 

Madeline. 
Answer one — subtract woman from man — answer two. 

Peggy. 
That is funny — never thought of that. 

Madeline. 
It's the only equation in life I know about where adding 
you get less and subtracting you get more. 

Vivian. 
Anjrway — logical or not — we want to be free — women should 
be free! 

Madeline. 

What do we exactly mean when we say we want to be free? 

Peggy. 
Freedom means — free to do as we please. 

Jane. 
So long as we don't injure others. 

Vivian. 
Women are tired of belonging to men. We want equality 
with men. 



25 



Jane. 

Who gave the men special privileges, anyway? 

Vivian. 
Oh, they got here first! 

Madeline. 
That depends on hiblical authority. 

Peggy. 
Therefore, first come, first served. 

Jane. 
Xo, that isn^t it at all — men claim superiority in physical 
and mental strength, 

Vivian. 
When we vote we'll change it all. The ballot will do away 
with superiority. 

Madeline. 
There never was original superiority, anyway — only in brute 
force. 

Jane. 
The world must be ruled by reason and Justice — not might. 

Peggy. 
It will be all right — ^there are more women than men in the 
world — we can out- vote the men. 

We will have the majority — democracy means the majority 
rule. My, but it's great I Women will rule the world. 

(Enter La Salle.) 

La Salle. 
Well, what is this all about? 

Madeline. 
We have the majority. 

Peggy. 
We've got it all figured out. You men are in the minority — 
being the majority — ^this is a democracy — we've got the right to 
rule. 

Jane. 
You men have got to quit mistreating women. 

Vivian. 
And children. 

Madeline. 
We are going to reform mankind. 

Peggy. 
And make the world better and brighter. 

Jane. 
There's lots of room for improvement. We are going to 
work to right every wrong. 



26 

Vivian. 
Man-made laws are one-sided, selfish and corrupt, anjway! 

Madelin^e. 
We insist on votes for women — laws by and for women — 
happiness to and with women. 

La Salle. 
Please tell me, if yon can, jnst exactly what it is that 
women want. 

The Girls. 
(All together.) 
What do we want? 

La Salle. 
Yes, that's it. What do you want? Lucidly and tersely 
stated, can yon tell me? 

Jake. 
A^ivian is Chairman of onr Committee. 

La Salle. 
Committee of what? 

Madeli^^e. 

Onr Union — the Models' Union. 

La Salle. 

I thought the Union was dead. 

Vivian. 

It is very much alive. 

Jane. 
We want you to help us. 

Peggy. 
In helping us you are helping all women — and helping 
women you are helping all mankind. 

La Salle. 
Well, speak out — what do you want? Let me hear what 
you have to say. 

Vivian. 
We want living wages for ourselves — for all working 
women. 

Peggy. 
We want our money when it is due, and we want laws that 
will make men pay us when it is due. 

Jane. 
We want better social conditions in every way. 

"Madeline. 
We want equal rights with men, and we are going to have 
them. 

La Salle. 
Oh, girls, you make me laugh. I'll tell you what you really 
want! 



27 

All. 
Tell us. 

La Salle. 
A real good liusbaiid — something you will never get by ballot. 

All. 
How can I get him? 

La Salle. 
Easy. 

Peggy. 
How can he be gotten? 

La Salle. 
Mother them — raise them — grow them ! Aren't you all 
women? The world is full of women. Men are born of women. 
If women would be content to be mothers — good mothers — 
mothers — just plain, old-fashioned, good, everyday mothers — why 
tbe world would be growing real men. 

Peggy. 
Why do yoQ men always harp on the women — same old cry — 
mothers — be mothers — that's all we hear! 

Jane. 
It's the men that should be fathers! 

Madeline. 
There are no more real fiesh and blood men. The kind of a 
man I'd like to meet and marry is a man willing to die for the 
honor of a woman. 

La Salle. 
Why, girls, there are lots of men like that. When you ask 
a man to face that ordeal you must give him an ideal woman. 
Men are just the same as they have always been — no better — no 
worse — just plain men — it is not man's nature to worship the 
modern woman — the modern woman is not feminine. 

Peggy. 
Woman had to become militant in order to force men to 
give her her rightful heritage. 

Jane. 
You know men have never been moral — always preaching 
virtue and practising vice. 

Vivian. 
When we get the ballot we'll stop this double standard 
business. 

Peggy. 
Men shall not be favored. 

La Salle. 
"NTo — women will share the standard. 

Vivian. 
We^U raise men up. 



28 



La Salle. 

Or pull women clown ! 

Madeline. 
What makes you sa}^ that? 

La Salle. 
Women are playing with fire — bah! Your modern woman — 
cocktails — cigarettes — tango — free love — hell ! 

VlVLA-N-. 

What are the women to do? The men won't marry. 

Jane. 
We dare not ask them. 

Madeline. 
I asked Jack. He refused me. I'll never make that mistake 
again. 

Peggy. 
Soon there will be no marriages. 

Jane. 
Not a girl in our Union has had a decent proposal! 

Vivian. 
Fve heard lots of them say that. 
La Salle. 
How can men marry? Women are turning the world upside 
down! 

Peggy. 
Listen to that foolish, silly twaddle. 

La Salle. 
Women demand so much. They drive men so hard. Xo 
ordinary man can in this day and time earn enough to support 
a family. 

Vivian. 
Man's government! When women vote and rule that will 
change. 

La Salle. 
What's your theory? 

Jane. 
Theory ? Economy — efficiency — morality. 

Madeline. 
Honesty — a square deal all around. 

La Salle. 
See here, girls, I want to tell you something. 

All. 
(Together.) 
Tell it. 

La Salle. 
I was born in Peoria. 



29 

All. 

What a poor birthplace! 

La Salle. 
My father was a small merchant — never made over $1500 
year in his life. 

Jane. 
What could he do with that? 

La Salle. 
There was father — mother — three sisters. 

YlVIAN. 



A family of six. 
Poor girls ! 



Madeline. 



La Salle. 
Yon need not feel sorry for my sisters. They are all happily 
married to good Western American men. I am the youngest of 
the children. When my parents married, father bought a little 
cottage in Peoria on credit. 

Jane. 
Were they happy ? 

Peggy. 
Did they have anything to eat? 
La Salle. 
Plenty. Mother did her own work — no servants for mother. 
Mother made all the family clothes — used to make my jeans 
pants — they used to fit, too ! Mother did all the cooking. My 
mother was a wonderful cook. Such smothered chicken! I can 
smell the fragrance of it yet. 

YlVIAN. 

I hate housework — same old thing every day. 

Jane. 
I hate sewing — stitch — stitch — stitch ! 

Madeline. 
I hate cooking — greasy pots and pans. 

Peggy. 
What chance did your mother have? 

La Salle. 
Why, girls, my mother was the dearest, sweetest, little 
woman — ^my mother was an angel — she was a real mother ! 
Many a time she tucked me in bed on a cold night. I wish I 
could find a girl like her to be the mother of my children. 

YlVIAN. 

How did they get along? 

Jane. 
They had to have clothes. 



30 

Peggy. 
They had to have food. 

Madeline. 
Lots of shoes. 

Vivian. 
Did the children have any schooling? 

La Salle. 
They had everything^ — and M^hat is more than all the riches 
in the world — we were all very — very happy. Everybody 
j-espected onr family. 

Peggy. 
How did they do it? 

Madeline. 
What kind of clothes did they wear? 

Jane. 
They couldn't have had a great deal to eat. 

La Salle. 
Why, they had everything that is necessary in a clean, 
American family. Of course, they didn't have any fancy clothes. 
Yon know they wore gingham bonnets in those days — my, but I 
can see the pretty, dimpled cheeks of my sisters peeking out of 
those bonnets now — and my mother — how well I remember that 
old black grosgrain silk dress she wore on Sunday ! I guess that 
dress was made over a dozen times — bat we loved one another 
and our home was very happy. 

Vivian. 
$1500 per year for six — $250 per year apiece — and you say 
they bought a home? 

Peggy. 
Why I earn $900 a year myself. 

Jane. 
Last year I made $1250. 

Madeline. 
I only made $700. 

Vivian. 
I made $1500. 

La Salle. 
$900, $1250, $700, $1500— why that makes $4,350, all told. 

Peggy. 
I could hardly make ends meet. 

Jane. 
I saved $50. 

Madeline. 

I had to borrow $50 from a friend. 

Vivian. 
I bought a sand lot in Ocean View for a hundred dollars. 



31 



La Salle. 
Why — do you know that you four girls made almost three 
times as much as my father ever made in any one year? 

Peggy. 
Your father had no right to marry. 

Jane. 
And bring a family into the world. 

Madeline. , 

Make your poor mother work so very hard. 

Vivian. 
You children had no chance. 

Peggy. 
I vv'ould never marry any man on that income. 

Jane. 
I think four children in a family are too many, anyway! 

Madeline. 
It isn't fair to the children — my parents had ten. That's 
why I've had to work. 

Vivian. 
We women are going to change all this. 

Peggy. 
When we get the ballot. 

Jane. 
There must be no more drudgery. 
Madeline. 
N'o white slavery, of any character. 
La Salle. 
(Who has been listening in amazement.) 
Wouldn't you girls rather have a little home of your own 
with someone you trust and respect to look up to — someone to 
dream with and build upon — little flaxen-haired kiddies to kiss 
your way along life's rocky road — someone to counsel — advise — 
inspire — enthuse? Girls — wasn't — isn't — the old way best — 
father's way — mother's way? 

Vivian. 
But see what we are winning; 

La Salle. 
See what you are losing. 

(The bell rings and Eeskine is admitted by La Salle.) 

La Salle. 
Erskine, old man, here's a good group of models — I said 
models — models of modern girls — ambitious girls — girls who 
want to vote — run the government ! Allow me : Peggy — Jane — 
Madeline — Vivian Mr. Erskine, my banker and friend. 



32 

Peggy. 
(Aside to the group.) 
Isn^t he handsome — magnetic? 

Jane. 
He must be very rich! 

Madeline. 
Fd like to marry a man like that. 

Vivian. 
He must be liberal — looks like a good fellow. 

Peggy. 
So few men in the world like that. 
Eeskine. 
(To La Salle.) 
I have to be at the Continental Trust Company at noon. 

Vivian. 
Come, girls, we must run along. 

Peggy. 
You know our Union meets at 12 :30. 

(As they leave, Peggy to La Salle.) 
Say, do you know — I'd like to have a little home of my 
own and a lot of little blue-eyed kiddies. 

La Salle. 
That's easy for a girl like you — if you only knew. 
(The girls leave.) 

Erskine. 
By, jove, that's a pretty bunch of girls ! 

La Salle. 
Suffragettes — feminists — it's awful ! 

Erskine. 
Have you any word from Mary and Hope? What are they 
going to do? 

La Salle. 
God knows, old man ! It's all up to you. 

Erskine. 
I am through. I won't help another dollar. I haven't 
seen Mary but two or three times in the past year. Whatever 
she needs done she sends Hope to me — always with George 
Burns. Hope is a damn pretty little vixen, and very smarts — 
wonderful little figure — almost a Venus ! Now — ^but what's the 
use — she won't let me talk to her. 

La Salle. 
You have got to stand by the Hawthorne Mill. 

Erskine. 
I will do nothing of the kind. The Continental Trust is 
])reparing to file its bill for a Eeceiver. The interest on the 
first mortgage bonds is six months past due. Our attorneys 



33 

claim the mill is insolvent. It's bound to go down. The mort- 
gages must be foreclosed. 

La Salle. 
This is all your fault. You had no right to withdraw your 
support after Hawthorne's death, and treat these women as you 
have. 

Eeskine. 
Wliat claim have they on me? Mary Hawthorne closed her 
home against me when Hawthorne killed himiself. I've been a 
mighty good friend to Mary Hawthorne. Besides — my own 
affairs are not in the very best of condition. 

La Salle. 
Mary Hawthorne has paid you a frightful price for your 
friendship — for her ambition — her business career ! 

Erskine. 
Life is a trade — you buy and sell your joys and sorrows — 
you can't always dictate the price. 

La Salle. 
Yes — but you were trading with a woman. 

Erskike. 
That's it. Don't you remember what Balzac says, describing 
two men: '^The one learned enough to doubt — the other 
ignorant enough to believe." I would paraphrase that epigram 
and make it read: Man learned enough to doubt; woman 
ignorant enough to believe. 

La Salle. 
Erskine, I know — as men go — you are not a bad sort of a 
fellow. You have a weakness for women. Many decent men 
have that uncontrollable weakness. I know the entire history 
of your friendship with Mary. It's all too horrible to con- 
template. I know human beings pretty well — ^men — women — 
it is not for me to say that either one of you was exactly to 
blame. Life is a fierce game — you were both playing the game. 
I don't think either one of you fully understood what you know 
now — but if either one is to be blamed it's you, Erskine — its 
you ! 

Erskine. 
Why me? 

La Salle. 
Oh, you were a married man — she was a wife and mother. 
Mary Hawthorne is a good woman — you were a strong man — 
you had more sense — you knew the world. She didn't have a 
square deal. You should have protected her. 

Erskine. 
Why she was a free woman. Xo one had any chains on her. 
She was fighting the battle called "equality of the sexes." The 
women have named it — 



34 



La Salle. 

Why you knew then — you know now — that the battle isn't 
equal — it never was and never will be. Under the circumstances 
and conditions surrounding you and Mary Hawthorne — I'm 
talking of the psychological conditions — the psychological sex 
proposition — there isn't a woman in the world — just as there 
isn't a man in the world — that can meet the test. It never has 
been met — it never will be met. 

Erskine. 
I am not to blame. She was human — I was human. She 
was playing what we call "the game" — so was I. Mary Haw- 
thorne wasn't content to be a wife and mother. She wanted a 
career — wanted to be somebody — do something — that's what 
women are crying for now-a-days — run the mill. Women had 
better let men run the mill. The mill grinds and crushes men — 
and it will grind and crush women. 

La Salle. 
You had no right to play with her soul. 

Eeskine. 
Bosh, old man, women's souls are getting too cheap ! The 
bargain counter is overloaded. She is to blame — not I. 

La Salle. 
I am not going to argue the question with you any further, — 
but, for pity's sake, do not let that property be taken away from 
those women. It is all they have in the world. 

Erskin^e. 
I can't save it. The directors of the Continental Trust 
Company have determined to foreclose. I don't control the board. 
I am only one director. Anyway, I will go to the meeting and 
I will be back here in about thirty minutes — if you say Mary 
and Hope are coming here. 

La Salle. 
They had an appointment to meet me here at 12:30. I am 
expecting them almost any moment. I trust that you will help 
them. 

Erskine. 
Keep them here. I will come back before they leave. 
(Erskine leaves.) 

La Salle. 
(Lights a pipe and seats himself, lialf reclining, on an 
artistic settee; blows smoke for about a minute, musing as 
follows : ) 

What a strange thing a human being is — psychic — emo- 
tional — temperamental — passionate — headstrong — uncontrollable 
-selfish — conceited — weak — yes, with all, weak — ^who is to judge 
men — women? Men and women playing the game of life are 
like boys spinning tops. The master of the game winds them 



35 

up and throws them out. Thev spin and spin, and then — ah, 
well ! 

(The bell rings and La Salle admits George Burns, 
Mart and Hope.) 

La Salle. 
Hello, Mary! How are 3'ou, Hope? Glad to see you, 
George. 

Mary. 
We are a little late. We couldn't help it. We simply had 
to go and see the Duffys this morning. You know Joe died last 
night. 

Hope. 
They telephoned us. We had to go and help them. 

Mary. 
Every which way I turn the hand of fate is against me. 

Hope. 
Xow, mother, don't tliink that — and please, mother, don't 
say it. 

George Burns. 
What word, La Salle, from the Continental and Erskine? 
I saw their laywer yesterday — a very fine old fellow — gave me his 
word that he would do all he could to reorganize the mill and 
its finances — said it all depended on Erskine. There are nine 
men on the board of directors. They are equally divided on the 
question of foreclosure, standing four to four. Erskine is Chair- 
man of the Board. It seems his vote will control the question 
as to what is to be done. He said that Erskine was friendly to 
the Hawthorne Mill. 

Mary. 
It looks very bad — almost hopeless. 

La Salle. 
Erskine is at the Continental meeting now. He will be 
here again very shortly. 

George Burns. 
I have submitted a bully plan to father for consolidation of 
the two mills — ^but dad is very stubborn. I have made no 
impression on him so far. He doesn't want to have anjrthing to 
do with Mrs. Hawthorne. 

La Salle. 
That would be the real solution of the problem. There 
must be some way to bring this about. 

Hope. 
We can't blame George's father. He's a hard-headed Scotch- 
man of the old school. He has his peculiar ideas — can't see 
women in business for a minute — one's prejudices of a life-time 
are not easily overcome. 



36 

Mae\. 
I don^t think any of you really understand the true siuation. 
1 hnow William Erskine — I have known him for some time — I 
have been taught a few things about certain types of men. 

La Salle. 
What is your point of view? 

Mary. 
Erskine could consolidate these two mills — reorganize, finance 
and prosper them — at his will — if that was his desire. He has a 
price — his price ! All men have a price. He is crafty — subtle. 
My instinct and knowledge of Erskine tell me what is amiss. 
T think I know what is in his mind and heart. I think I have 
known for some time. 

George Burns. 
N^ow, Mrs. Hawthorne, don't be too severe on Erskine. You 
can never tell — you may be wrong — he may help us. He may 
be the bridge that will carry us over to safety. 

Mary. 
George, has your father never talked to you about Erskine? 

George Burns. 
Father never has. I have asked him several times. He never 
says a word — father doesn't like him, that's all; but father is a 
very prejudiced man. The truth is, Mrs. Hawthorne, I don't 
know or understand very much about my father. 

La Salle. 
It may be, Mary, that Erskine will cast his vote on the 
board of directors for the Hawthorne Mill. Of course, I see 
what is running through your mind — it is damnable — it never 
occurred to me until a little while ago that such a thing was 
possible. 

Mary. 
I know the toll that the keeper charges to cross the bridge. 

La Salle. 
Don't you think it feasible, George, to finance the Hawthorne 
Mill independently, or in consolidation witli your father's mill, 
through some other trust company or group of bankers? 
George Burns. 
I think not. You know Erskine' s ramifications extend 
through every financial institution in New York. In one way 
or another he or his friends have an influence on every board of 
directors. He will close every channel if we try to go over his 
head. 

Hope. 
There isn't any use in worrying, mother — please don't cry — 
be calm — control yourself. If the worst comes, let the mill go. 
There ought to be a good equity in it, in any event. You and 
I don't need very much to live on comfortably. 



37 



La Salle. 
Erskine says that the Continental claims that the mill is 
insolvent. 

Mary. 
The mill is not insolvent. Its assets exceed its liabilities 
two for one. We have lost a great deal of money the past year, 
but that has been because someone has been battering our credit. 
It has been almost destroyed. There is a good equity in that 
mill even under foreclosure at this time — but we will never 
realize a dollar from it. Erskine won't let us. 
George Burns. 
Why, Mrs. Hawthorne, we will fight him for it — fight him 
to the death. 

Hope. 
I don't know — I think mother is right — we won't get it. 
I think I see some of the drift of Erskine's recent innuendoes 
to me. Do you know, mother, I think that man is wicked ! 

La Salle. 
Oh, Hope, don't take everything ttiat a man says too 
seriously. 

Mary. 
If a woman would take what man says and his attitude to 
her more seriously, she would be less often deceived about herself. 

La Salle. 
The more I see of life, the more I become convinced that 
the old civilization was the best. It is true that men held women 
in subjection — but it was for woman's good. 

Hope. 
I don't exactly get that — we are not slaves. 

La Salle. 
God created us male and female — He had a reason. 

Mary. 
When woman goes to a man's mill he uses her for grist. 

La Salle. 
Yes, the better way is the old way — let the man bring the 
flour home — let the wife do her milling in the home. 

Mary. 
Erskine has collected his last toll. Hope, we will let the 
mill go, if that is the alternative ! 

Hope. 
We will find a way. 

George Burns. 
Perhaps some day you will let me find a way — anyway, you 
must not worry. I must get downtown. I am going" over and 
have another talk with father. We will work this out in some 
way. Bye-bye for awhile. 

(Just as Burns is leaving, the bell rings and La Salle 



38 



goes to the door with Eurns. Burns is going out as Erskine 
comes in and Erskine brushes against Burns, stumbles and 
almost falls. Burns leaves.) 

Erskine. 
Confound the luck! I wish you women would cut this 
young limb of the law out. Young lawyers are a damn nuisance. 

Hope. 
George Burns is a gentleman. 

Erskine. 
Are you sparking with Burns? 

Hope. 
How could that possibly be of any interest to you? 

Erskine. 
I should think you would have more judgment — a little 
tact. I thought you had depth. Why don't you show a little 
sense ? 

Hope. 
I wish you would let me alone. I am tired of your hounding 
me. I am beginning to see through you. 

Erskine. 
You might have a little gratitude when I am trying to 
save you and your mother. 

Hope. 
You trying to save us — you scoundrel! 

La Salle. 
Oh, Hope, please don't! 

Hope. 
Does this blackguard think I am going to sacrifice myself 
and my love for George for — for — oh, it's unspeakable! 

Erskine. 
The Continental Trust Company will commence its action 
to foreclose the Hawthorne mortgages tomorrow. I am through. 
Good day. 

Mary. 
Oh, no, William Erskine, you are not through — our accounts 
are not closed, by any means. 

Erskine. 
Get out of my way, Mary. 

Mary. 
You are in your own way. 

Erskine. 
Let me go! It was a cursed daj that I first met you. 

Mary. 
You say that — you who have taken the toll — and demanded 
more? You think your money and power give you license to 



39 

use a woman as a doll or a football, whichever happens to please 
your passing whim or fanc}^? 

Erskine. 
I am through with you and yours forever. 

Mary. 
I am not through with you. 

(Erskine pulls away from her toward the door and as 
they reach the foyer she shoots him as the curtain falls.) 

(End of Act II.) 



40 



ACT III. 

Scene : 

Supreme Court, N'ew York County, Part I, Criminal Branch. 
(Three months intervene between Act II and III.) 

Discovery : 

Courtroom — Stenographer seated at his table. First and 
Second Court Officers busy arranging counsel table 
and chairs. (Mill Men and Stranger: straggle in 
during dialogue between Court Officers.) 

First Court Officer. 
How long do you think, Hardman, the trial will take? 

Second Court Officer. 
Don't know. 

First Court Officer. 
Let's see — been at it now seven days. What do you think 
of the jury? 

Second Court Officer. 
I never think. 

First Court Officer. 
I like the jury. The foreman is a sympathetic looking man. 
It's a hard case. I'm thinking it will go hard with the de- 
fendant. The law is against her. 

Second Court Officer. 
Don't know the law. 

First Court Officer. 
The newspapers may help the defendant. They seem to 
favor her. 

Second Court Officer. 
Don't read newspapers. 

First Court Officer. 
Judge seems fair to both sides. Judge Brewster is a mighty 
fine Judge. 

Second Court Officer. 
Don't know the Judge. 

First Court Officer. 
Austin's making good as District Attorney — smart fellow, 
Austin — says he's going to convict the defendant. 
Second Court Officer. 
(Grunts.) 

First Court Officer. 
How many more witnesses do you reckon the defendant is 
going to call ? They've been going now two days. 



41 

Second Court Officer. 
I never reckon. 

First Court Officer. 
I like that yoimg lawyer, Burns — he has a great future, in 
iny Judgment. 

Second Court Officer. 
Vyq got no judgment. 

First Court Officer. 
I hope the defendant takes the stand. 

Second Court Officer. 
I never hope. 

First Court Officer. 
The defendant is a beautiful woman. 

Second Court Officer. 
A woman is a woman. 

First Court Officer. 
Hardman, you ought to be on a fixed post — you^re so 
stationary ! 

(The Jury file in, led by Third Court Officer — take 
their seats in the box. The District Attorney comes in — 
takes a seat at counsel table. John Burns and Jacques La 
Salle come in and sit down. Hope and Mary come in, 
accompanied by Burns. Each lawyer has two young 
assistants. ) 

George Burns. 
Good morning, Austin. 

Austin. 
Good morning, Burns. 

First Court Officer. 
(Knocks and announces:) 

^'Everybody rise — the Justice of the Court. 

"Hear ye, hear ye, the Honorable, the Supreme Court in 
and for the County of N'ew York is now in session, pursuant to 
adjournment. Draw near, give your attention. You shall be 
heard.^^ 

Justice Brewster. 
Be seated, gentlemen. 

(Twenty or thirty seconds elapse.) 

Gentlemen, are you ready to proceed? Mr. Burns, call 
your next witness, please. 

George Burns. 
I will ask Jacques La Salle to take the stand. 

(La Salle is sworn by the Clerk, as follows:) 
"Do you solemnly swear, in the case of the People of the 



42 

State of New York against Mary Hawthorne, in which you are 
now about to give evidence, to speak the truth, the whole truth, 
and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" 

La Salle. 
I sweai. 

George Burns. 
Mr. La Salle, you have testified very fairly and frankly for 
the State. May I ask 3'Ou to tell his Honor and the jury if you 
over had any conversation with the defendant about the deceased 
William Erskine's relations v/ith defendant prior to her husband's 
death ? 

La Salle. 
T did. 

George Buries. 
State the conversation. 

Austin. 
I object. Such a conversation cannot be material upon any 
issue involved in this trial. 

Justice Brewster. 
What is the relevancy, Mr. Burns? 
George Burns. 
The defense expects to show, in the course of the trial, the 
cause of this killing. This evidence is a circumstance. I want 
to show the defendant's relations to the deceased and her state 
of mind during the period intervening between her husband's 
death and the death of Mr. Erskine. 

Justice Brewster. 
The Court will take the testimony. 
George Burns. 
The Court says you may answer, Mr. La Salle. 

La Salle. 
I did have several conversations with Mrs. Hawthorne. She 
told me the entire history of her experience with Mr. Erskine — 
how it all came about. She detailed to me the circumstances 
connected with the discovery by her husband of the situation. 
She said the humiliation of it all caused her husband to take 
his life. Hawthorne was a very proud and sensitive man and 
could not stand the sorrow of it all. It seems he felt that he 
was largely to blame. The defendant was very despondent and 
melancholy and brooded all the time. 

George Burns. 
Did you ever have any conversation with Mrs. Hawthorne 
as to William Erskine's attitude to her daughter Hope? 

La Salle. 
r did. 

George Burns. 
State the conversation. 



43 

Austin. 
The State objects. It is irrelevant and immaterial. 

Justice Brewster. 
I will take it. 

George Burns. 
Go ahead. What did she say? 

La Salle. 
She said to me that she thought Erskine had an evil design 
in respect to her daughter. 

George Burns. 
Yon may inquire, Mr. Austin. 
Austin. 
I have no questions. 

Justice Brewster. 
Stand aside, Mr. La Salle. Call your next witness. 

George Burns. 
Will Miss Hope Hawthorne take the witness stand? 

The Clerk. 
Do you solemnly swear, in the case of the People of the State 
of New York against Mary Hawthorne, in which you are now 
about to give evidence, to speak the truth, the whole truth, and 
nothing but the truth, so help you God? 

Hope. 
I do so swear. 

George Burns. 
Miss Hawthorne, how long did you know William Erskine? 

Hope. 
About five years. 

George Burns. 
Was Mr. Erskine a frequent visitor in your parents' home 
before your father's death? 

Hope. 
He was. 

George Burns. 
Did' you ever see Mr. Erskine in your mother's home after 
your father's death? 

Hope. 
N"ever. 

George Burns. 
Did you have occasion to call at Mr. Erskine's office at any 
time after your father's death? 

Hope. 

Very often. 

George Burns. 
In whose company? 



44 

Hope. 
Always with you, Mr. Burns, with the exception, I think, of 
two or three times. 

GrEORGE BURNS. 

When was that? 

Hope. 
When you were out of town, Mr. Burns. 

George Burns. 
What was the cause or occasion of your calling on Mr. 
Erskine ? 

Hope. 
Mr. Erskine's trust company — the Continental — was, and is, 
the trustee in all of the mortgages on the Hawthorne Mills. The 
mill keeps its main checking account with the Continental. 
Naturally, our business transactions are very large. We required 
the use of a great deal of money. My mother's mental and 
nervous condition has been such since father's death that she 
has not been able to transact very much business. It devolved 
on me. There was no one else to do it. 

George Burns. 
Why was it necessary for you to see Mr. Erskine? 

Hope. 
The officers of the Trust Company would always refer me 
to Mr. Erskine. He seemed to be the one man who passed on 
every question involving the Hawthorne Mills. They always 
said that whatever Mr. Erskine said would go through. 

George Burns. 
What do you mean — go through? 

Hope. 
Be fully approved by the officers and directors of the Trust 
Company. 

George Burns. 
After your father's death did the mill prosper? 

Hope. 
No, sir. 

George Burns. 
Can yon tell the jury any of the reasons why it did not 
prosper ? 

Austin. 
The State objects. What interest have the Court and jury 
in the prosperity of the Hawthorne Mill? 

George Burns. 
May it please the Court, this evidence is essential and 
material for it tends to show the underlying motives of Mr. 
Erskine's conduct and its effect upon this defendant, thus un- 
folding to your Honor and the jury the cause and occasion of 
defendant's act. 



45 



Justice Brewster. 
The Court will take the evidence, Mr. Austin. I think the 
evidence may be of great importance to the defendant. 

George Burns. 
You may now answer, Miss Hope. 

Hope. 
Shortly after father's death, for reasons that I did not at 
that time understand, but which since that time have become 
perfectly plain to me, the Continental Trust Company changed 
its entire attitude of trust and confidence in our mill. 

George Burns. 
In what way? 

Hope. 
The credit of the mill was cut down gradually and we were 
constantly subjected to criticism and annoyance. When I would 
go with you, Mr. Burns, to the officers of the Trust Company 
they would invariably send us to Mr. Erskine. 

George Burns. 
And what would he do? 

Hope. 
In the early days he was very gracious and courteous to me — 
treated me as if I was his own daughter — always straightened 
things out; after that, for every knot that I got untied, I 
gradually came to know that Mr. Erskine would tie five new 
ones. 

George Burns. 
How could you come to know that? 

Hope. 
The officers of the Trust Company didn't always have their 
iiistory and arithmetic correct, and their statements and figures 
often crossed wires with Mr. Erskine's, so I came to know as 
time went by — and of course I see it more plainly now — we 
weren't getting a square deal from Mr. Erskine. 

George Burns. 
G^o on. 

Hope. 
The business of the mill fell off in various ways. We found 
the commercial agencies were being given false information con- 
cerning the mill, and we had a great deal of trouble with the 
trade on that account. 

George Burns. 
Go on. 

Hope. 

Finally things went from bad to worse. We defaulted on 
our interest on our first mortgage bond issue. This naturally 
brought things to a crisis. The question of foreclosure was 
hanging in the balance for about two months. 



46 

George Burns. 
What was the attitude of Mr. Erskine toward the foreclosure 
of the mortgages on the mill? 

Hope. 
He always tried to make us believe that he was doing all 
in his power to help us wdth the Trust Company with the 
mortgages and the reorganization. Finally it developed that he 
really was the cause of all our trouble. 

George Burns. 
How do you know that? 

Hope. 
I think you first secured the information from the lawyers 
for the Company, Mr. Burns, after mother's trouble. All of the 
directors said that was a fact. It seems not to have been dis- 
puted by anyone. 

George Burns. 
You have said that at first Mr. Erskine's attitude to you was 
very fatherly. 

Hope. 
It was. 

Burns. 
Did his attitude afterwards change? 

Hope. 
It did. 

Burns. 
Tell the jury when and how. 

Austin. 
May it please the Court, we object to this evidence. Its 
tendency is plainly to create prejudice against the memory of 
Mr. Erskine — to create sympathy for the defendant. It is not 
claimed here, I take it, that Mr. Erskine ever actually wronged 
this young lady, and his attitude toward her could not have 
justified his death. 

George Burns. 
The evidence is offered, may it please the Court, for this 
purpose: It should properly be considered in connection with 
the defendant's experience with William Erskine before Mr. Haw- 
thorne's death, and Mr. Erskine's conduct toward Mrs. Hawthorne 
thereafter — his attitude toward the mill — its mortgages — and the 
general trend of events. If this defendant killed Mr. Erskine 
under these circumstances, she might not be considered guilty 
of murder in the first degree. It is for the jury to say. 
Justice Brew^ster. 
I will take the evidence. The Court will define its view of 
the defense and the evidence during the course of the trial. 

George Burns. 
The Court permits you to testify, Miss Hawthorne. 



47 

Hope. 
It is proper for me to say that I did not at first understand 
Mr. Erskine — I had always been led to believe that he was a 
very distinguished and honorable gentleman. Many — many 
things were said by him to me, from time to time, that I did 
not understand — had I been worldlywise, I would have known 
their meaning and import. It was really only on the day that 
my mother shot Mr. Erskine in Mr. La Salle's studio that the 
full situation dawned on me and his true intent was disclosed. 
It then became evident that he was bent either on the destruction 
of our mill — my own sacrifice — or something else that at that 
time I did not understand. 

George Buens. 
Had you ever told your mother of any conversation had with 
Mr. Erskine? 

Austin. 
We object. 

Justice Brewster. 
Objection overruled. 

George Burns. 
Please answer. 

Hope. 
I can't say that I always told my mother every word that 
was said, but, in substance, I think I did. Mother had my 
complete confidence at all times, and I think I have always had 
hers. 

George Burns. 
That is all. You may inquire, Mr. Austin. 

Austin. 
Miss Hawthorne, pardon me, you do not claim that Mr. 
Erskine ever personally harmed you? Is there any such claim? 

Hope. 
There is not. 

Austin. 
You may stand aside. 

Justice Brewster. 
Call your next witness, Mr. Burns. 
George Burns. 
I am going to ask Mary Hawthorne, the defendant, to tnke 
the stand. 

The Clerk. 
Do you solemnly swear, in the case of the People of the 
State of N"ew York against Mary Hawthorne, in which you are 
now about to give evidence, that you will speak the truth, the 
whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God? 

Mary. 
I swear to speak the truth, so help me God. 



48 

George Burns. 
Mrs. Hawthorne, what is your age? Where were you born? 

Mary. 
I am thirty-nine years of age. I was born in Westchester 
County, near White Plains, on a farm — ^my great-grandfather's 
farm, originally. 

George Burns. 
Who was your great-grandfather? 

Mary. 
He was a soldier in General Washington's army. His name 
was Boone. He was killed in the battle of White Plains. 
George Burns. 
I show you a pearl-handled pistol. Do you recognize it? 
What do you know about it? 

Mary. 
Yes; that is a pistol that I won in a contest, at a house 
party, some three years ago. It was a prize given by Mr. Erskine 
for the best pistol shot at thirty yards. 
George Burns. 
How did you come to have this pistol on the day that you 
shot Mr. Erskine? 

Mary. 
I have carried that pistol for three years, Mr. Burns. 1 
always carried it in ray hand-bag. Mr. Erskine used to tell me 
that I should never be without it — especially around the mill. 
Foolishly, I did carry it. I never had any thought of shooting 
anybody — certainly not Mr. Erskine. My mind and reason were 
simply overpowered by what seemed to me to be his determination 
to destroy me or my child. 

George Burns. 
What was the cause of your husband's death? 

Austin. 
I object to the question. The answer must necessarily in- 
volve a conclusion, and it cannot have any bearing on the de- 
fendants' guilt. 

Justice Brewster. 
How is it admissible, Mr. Burns? 
George Burns. 
The answer is a predicate for testimony I purpose develop- 
ing, showing a condition in this defendant's mind — a condition of 
psychic emotionalism, inconsistent with reason or restraint, — 
demonstrating an inability to appreciate or understand the nature 
or character of her act. 

Austin. 
May it please the Court, there is no principle of unwritten 
Jaw obtaining in this State and the learned counsel is endeavoring 
to weave a theorv of defense unknown to our law. 



49 

George Burns. 

The defense maintains, may it please your Honor, that in 
order to convict the defendant upon this indictment, it must 
appear that defendant killed William Erskine with malice afore- 
thought. There must have been willful design and premeditation. 
It must have been a voluntary and willful act, and it must be so 
found by this jury. It is for the jury to determine. I claim 
that this defendant was in a psj^hic — temperamental — emotional 
condition, wherein her mind was beyond her control. I want to 
show the cause of that condition of her mind. 

Austin. 

This is a subtle refinement, intended to bring into this 
defense the so-called unwritten law. It is simply giving the jury 
a cause for acquittal. 

Justice Brewster. 

As generally understood, the laws of the State of Xew York 
do not recognize the so-called unwritten law. The courts of our 
country are often called upon to apply settled rules of law to 
new and varying conditions. Much law — and for all that judge- 
made law — has been handed down to support property rights. 
The Court is inclined, in this case, to exercise its prerogative in 
the interest of human rights. The Court could conceive of a 
situation here that would morally and legally justify the de- 
fendant's acquittal. Mind you, I am not suggesting that she 
should be acquitted. Far from it. All that the Court rules is 
that the defendant may unfold to the jury the history of this 
situation, and, if it is in her power, convince the jury of her lack 
of guilt under the law. You gentlemen must remember that in 
order to convict this defendant of murder, the jury must believe 
her act to have been a consciously intentional one. 

Austin. 

I again assert — may it please the Court — that all this will 
be merely giving the jury an excuse to acquit the defendant on 
the ground of the unwritten law. 

Justice Brewster. 

My dear counselor, the bible commences the story of man- 
kind with an excuse. 

Austin. 

If this theory of defense is permitted in this day and time — 

when women are fighting in competition with men — when passion 

and sex are more or less inseparably interwoven into almost every 

contract and employment — men will be at the mercy of women. 

Justice Brewster. 

The momentousness of the social and civil equation is not 
the subject before the Court. The Court is dealing with a con- 
crete case of human life under given circumstances. If it should 
happen — I do not say that it should happen — that my view 
results in the acquittal of this defendant, it will at least serve 



50 



to call the attention of the world to what the feminist movement 
involves. Men and women mnst take the reckoning. 
Geokge Burns. 

I repeat the question. What was the cause of your husband's 
d eath ? 

Mary. 

My husband — through a channel not necessary to relate^ 
became advised that I had violated the conventional standard of 
married life — ^William Erskine being the link in my chain of 
misfortune — the link that had broken — the one that could not 
stand the strain of the test. You — ^you know what I mean — the 
thing in the game that men and women play in trade and 
commerce that was, and is, fundamental — ^beyond human 
control — the sex equation. I tried to show my husband — whom 
God knows, I worshipped — how the sequence of events had 
woven its evil coil around me — how I — a woman — no stronger 
or weaker than the average normal woman confronted 
with a given situation — a strong, handsome, magnetic man^ — 
physically attractive — very wealthy — liberal beyond expression^ 
brilliant intellect — ready, interesting talker — opportunity — aggres- 
sive, masculine man — I a woman — just a woman. The realization 
came to him that he, in permitting me the freedom that present 
society accords woman, had fallen short of the real man that he 
had pictured himself to be — that blind drifting with modern 
custom made him, in a measure, responsible for a shattered and 
broken ideal. He said he forgave me — that I was only partly 

to blame but, as for him, he could not face the world. 

George Burns. 

What effect did your husband's death under these circum- 
stances have on you? 

Austin. 

I object. The question calls for a condition or state of 
mind — a conclusion. It is improper. 

Justice Brewster. 

The answer may be a statement of fact. Its truthfulness is 
for the jury to pass upon. The jury are entitled to have the 
defendant's statement. They ma}^, or may not, believe it. You 
may answer, Mrs. Hawthorne. 

Mary. 

My mind was almost destroyed. Every day was a living hell. 
It seemed as if my heart was being torn out of my bosom. 
George Burns. 
State, briefly as you may, Mr. Erskine's conduct toward you 
and the Hawthorne Mill after your husband's death. 

Mary. 
I saw him only two or three times — never, alone, with one 
exception. I forbade him coming to my home, and, naturally, 
he became very indignant and exacting. I could not talk to him. 



51 

as his presence became repulsive to me — in fact, loathsome. The 
Hawthorne Mill became involved in financial difficulties. You 
know, Mr. Burns, that I placed everything in your hands. Of 
course my daughter has been of great help to me. 
George Burns. 
Can you tell us any instance in connection with the 
mortgages on the mill that you specially remeonber? 

Mary. 
Yes. When we were first threatened with foreclosure, Hope 
and 1 went to Mr. Erskine's office one day to plead with him to 
save our property. He received us very courteously. He asked 
me to talk things over with him privately in his adjoining office. 
I agreed, and did so. At first he was very reasonable. Then he 
insisted on my resuming my former relation to him. I refused 
point blank. Death would have been preferable. He became 
very insulting. T left his office instantly. 
George Burns. 
And then? 

Mary. 
I never saw him personally after that until the day I met 
him in Mr. La Salle's studio. 

George Burns. 
Did you hear from or communicate with him? 

Mary. 
Only through you and my daughter, with one exception. 
After I had refused to see him or talk to him he wrote me a 
letter— only once — one letter. 

George Burns. 
Have you that letter? 

Mary. 
I have. 

George Burns. 
Please let me have it. 

Mary. 
This it the letter. 

George Burns. 
We offer the latter evidence. 

Austin. 
Permit us to examine the letter. 

(They examine it at length.) 

We object to the introduction of this letter. First, there is 
no proof of its authenticity. We think its contents inadmissible. 

George Burns. 
Can you identify the handwriting, Mrs. Hawthorne? 

Mary. 
I can. 



52 



George Burns. 
Whose handwriting is it? 

Mary. 

It is the handwriting of William Erskine. I am perfectly 
familiar with his handwriting. 

Justice Brewster. 
The stenographer will mark the letter in evidence. 
(Letter marked in evidence.) 

George Burns. 
(Speaking to Mar}^) 
Please read the letter. 

Mary. 
(Eeading.) 
"My dear Mary: — 

"I have been trying to see you for a month. I have 
repeatedly tried to phone you. Your maid always says you are 
not at home. I know she lies. I have called at your home 
several times. Your butler always says you are not at home. 
He lies. I must see you. I want to have a heart to heart talk 
with you. It is the quick or the dead. Do not be a fool. Life 
is not steel or stone. It is flesh and blood — give and take. 
We are two human beings. In mercy^s name, be human. You 
are one of the women who have been fighting and crusading for 
equal rights for women. You secured equal rights from your 
husband. Well, Mary, life is a war. General Sherman said: 
"War is hell.'^ When the bullets begin to fly around you pale and 
sicken. Why, every woman who wants to fight either with or 
against men must take the chances of war, and those whose blood 
is not clogged with chalk will do what you did, nine times out of 
ten. Come out and play. My heart is aching for you. 

William Erskine." 
George Burns. 
What happened when you received this letter? 

Mary. 
I did not answer it. Of course, I realized that his letter 
contained a great deal of truth. Would that all women knew it ! 
This letter shows you as well, in a large measure, the type of 
the man. 

George Burns. 
What happened next? 

Mary. 
It was a few weeks after that we met in the studio. 

George Burns. 
Tell the Court and jury what occurred in the studio. 

Mary. 
We were expecting that morning a final answer from Mr. 
Erskine as to the foreclosure. I cannot remember all that 



53 

occurred. It is all a frightful dream to me. I was in a terribly 
iieryous condition. Erskine got into ..an argument with my 
daughter, Hope. The conviction came to me that Erskine eitlier 
intended to force Hope to bend to his will or he was fighting me 
with my child and the mill foreclosure to make me bend to his 
will. He was fighting the way men know how to fight, and I 
did the only thing a woman could do — I killed him. 
Justice Brewster. 

The Court will stand adjourned until tomorrow morning. 
The Court Officer. 

Hear ye, hear ye, this Court will now stand adjourned until 
tomorrow morning at IG .30 o'clock. 

(Curtain.) 
(End of Act III.) 



54 



ACT IV. 

Scene : 

The John Burns Mill, East Eiver, near New York end 
Brooklyn Bridge. 

(The morning after the Jury was instructed.) 
Discovery : 

(A young lady filing papers in a cabinet. A stenographer 
taking dictation from John Burns. Two stenographers 
typewriting. Workmen passing to and fro in the Mill.) 
(The office is at the side of the stage and a partial per- 
spective shows some of the machinery of the Mill.) 
John Burns. 
(Dictating to First Stenographer.) 
"I have been neglecting my business for the past two weeks. 
My son has been trying his first big murder case. My personal 
interest has kept me in the courtroom when I should have been 
in the mill.'' 

(Gets up and walks about very nervously.) 
(The stenographer and mill hands all show nervousness.) 
( Continuing to stenographer. ) 
I am so nervous my feet are freezing. 

( Continues dictating. ) 
"I would like to have your lowest figure on $50,000 for 90 
days, with option of renewal for another 90 days if I need it — " 
Damn it, I'm so nervous I can't think. I wonder what the 
jury has done. 

First Stenographer. 
Why not put your work aside, Mr. Burns, until the after- 
noon? 

John Burns. 
I must. I can't think. I can't sit still. If that jury 
convicts Mary Hawthorne you girls can have my mill — I'm going 
to quit this country. 

First Stenographer. 
I wouldn's say that, Mr. Burns. What would you do? 
Where would you go? 

John Burns. 
Go? Go? I'd go to Egypt, Japan, China, Fiji Islands — 
I'd go to hell! 

First Stenographer. 
I couldn't sleep last night. I read and walked the floor all 
night. 

John Burns. 
I haven't had a night's sleep for a week. 



55 

Second Stenographer. 
(Begins to cry.) 
Mr. Burns, I'm so agitated I can't work. Please — do yon 
think they could convict Mrs. Hawthorne? 

File Clerk. 
They wouldn't convict her if we had a few women on the 
Jury ! 

John Burns. 

Who can tell wliat a jury will do ? Nobody ! 
James Smith (Foreman). 
(Comes in excited) 
My God, l[r. Burns, Fm worried to death. I had to go by 
the courthouse before coming to work. I stayed around until 
one o'clock this morning. At that time there was still no news 
from the jury. 

John Burns. 
Yes. The morning papers state that as late as two o'clock 
there was no verdict. 

Smith. 
I found out at the courthouse that the jury have been up all 
night. Mr. George said that it was rumored that the jury stood 
ten to two for convicting Mrs. Hawthorne of murder in the first 
degree. He is almost in a state of collapse. 

John Burns. 
I don't believe that rumor. I have been on too many juries. 
Ihose courthouse rumors are seldom reliable. 

Smith. 
That was a gruelling cross-examination that the District- 
Attorney gave Mrs. Hawthorne. It would be terrible if the jury 
convicted her. Mr. George made such a wonderful speech yester- 
day — everybody says so — but they say around the courthouse 
that he has staked everything on the unwritten law, and the 
Judge charged the jury that the unwritten law didn't obtain in 
New York State. Now, of course if it was a Southern jury, 
they wouldn't pay any attention to that charge. They would 
know that it was the Justice's duty to make that statement in 
his charge — but in our Southern civilization jurors generally 
know a man's duty to a woman — ^at least, they knew it in the 
old days, when I lived down in Alabama, where women were 
idealized. It may be different now. The new woman is chang- 
ing things a bit everywhere. 

John Burns. 
Oh, New York men are just the same kind of men as 
Southern or Western men — I think they'll play the part of men. 

Smith. 
I don't know — I'm almost crazy! You know, Mr. Burns, 
T love Mrs. Hawthorne. You remember when Mr. Hawthorne 



56 

took me away from you — gave me more wages — of course, I had 
to go — I had my wife and seven children to support. 

John Burns. 
( Speaking nervously. ) 
I didn't know you had seven then. 

Smith. 
Yes — seven then — seven now. Well, Mrs. Hawthorne was 
an angel around the Hawthorne Mill. She was always looking 
out for everybody. When Mr. Hawthorne died she came to me 
and said: "Mr. Smith, I never liked the idea of your being taken 
away from the Burns Mill. I want you to go iDack to old man 
Burns, and, if he will do as well by you, take your old position 
with him. He may need you.'' 

John Burns. 
You never told me that. 

Smith. 
I know I didn't. Mrs. Hawthorne made me promise not to 
tell you unless I had to. 

John Burns. 
Mary Hawthorne is a marvelous woman. I never have 
understood her. 

Smith. 
Women are mighty hard to understand, Mr. Burns. Do you 
believe in votes for women? 

John Burns. 
I do not. No greater blunder has ever been made in the 



Smith. 



world. 

Why so ? 

John Burns. 
Smith, you are a well educated man and a bright fellow. 
Have you ever studied the psychology of women^s hats? 

Smith. 
N"o, I have not. Just what do you mean? 

John Burns. 
Hats have a great deal to do with disposition — temperament 
character — logic — brains. I don't believe in the new woman 
because she doesn't fit her millinery. 

Smith. 
That's too subtle for me. What do you mean? 

John Burns. 
Women's minds are diverted by feathers and flowers — the 
feminine brain is a bon-bon brain. 

Smith. 
But you admitted a little while ago that Mary Hawthorne 
was a marvelous woman. 



57 



John Burns. 
The spirit that mothers men is a marvelous spirit. 

Smith. 
But there are some noted women who are doing men^s work 
famously. 

John Burns. 
They are not feminine — they are masculine. I know lots 
of men who would make good wet nurses! 

Smith. 
Don^t you enjoy clever women? 

Burns. 
As a diversion — yes; as a steady diet — no. 

Smith. 
My, it's past two o'clock. I'm so nervous I can't go to 
^.vork. 

John Burns. 
This suspense is terrible. I don't know what is the matter 
with that damn jury. They are now out eighteen hours. Strange 
I don't hear from George. 

(The phone rings and Burns answers the phone.) 

Hello, hello! What's that? For God's sake can't you talk 
a little louder? I can't hear w^hat you say. This is John 
Burns — yes. My son says to tell me that it is rumored that the 
jury have about agreed on their verdict; that they have sent a 
message to the Judge. Some one point they want cleared up 
before coming in with a verdict. The Judge will be on the bench 
in a little while — he's so excited he can't phone — oh! George is 
so excited he can't phone. My, this is terrible. 

(The girls begin to weep. Each one takes out her hand- 
kerchief. Smith runs out in the mill and shouts to the men 
that the jury have almost agreed. A number come in. They 
are nervous and excited.) 

Smith. 
If the Judge answers that question, the verdict ought to be 
returned pretty quickly, and we ought to know before very long 
just what they are going to do. 

First Stenographer. 
I think we ought to pray for Mrs. Hawthorne. 

Smith. 
Yes, let us pray to God for Mrs. Hawthorne. Mr. Burns, 
won't you say the Lord's Prayer? 

(They all involuntarily drop on their knees.) 

John Burns. 
"Our Father which art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. 
Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth as it is in Heaven. 
Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our debts as we 



58 

forgive our debtors, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver 
us from evil: For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and 
the glory forever, amen/' 

(They all rise and impatiently move about. After about 
a minute or two of ^ silence the telephone bell rings and John 
Burns nervously takes the phone.) 

John Burns. 

Hello, hello ! George says : jury found the defendant guilty. 
What — what — guilty or not guilty? What did they do? Did 
they acquit her? That's it — they acquitted her. Thank God! 
You say George started for the mill five minutes ago. Thank 
you^ — thank you. 

Smith. 

Thank God! • 

(Smith throws his arms around Burns and Burns around 
Smith. The girls cry, and the mill hands and the girls 
congratulate John Burns. The horn of a taxi is heard. George 
Burns enters.) 

Geoege Burns. 
Father, we won — we won ! 

(Burns senior and junior embrace.) 

John Burns. 
God bless you, my boy! Where is Mary? Where is Hope? 

George Burns. 
Mary fainted. I left her with the boys from my office and 
l^a Salle. I couldn't wait. Dad, I've almost lost my mind. 
Give me a drink of water, someone — please. La Salle is going 
to bring them here. 

John Burns. 
What was the trouble with the jury? 

George Burns. 
They tell me it was awful. The jury was very much 
divided. Some were for conviction for murder in the first 
degree — some for manslaughter — five or six for acquittal. They 
said they argued — they fought — they prayed — it was a close call. 
It must have been terrible. 

John Burns. 
What was the trouble? 

George Burns. 
The woman question, dad — the woman question! Men are 
divided on it. It's awful ! 

John Burns. 
you. I wish your mother was here. I wonder if she knows. 

Well, my boy, Tm proud of you. I never thought it was in 



59 



George Burns. 
Dad, mother was with me all through that trial. I felt her 
presence all the time. I'm sure she knows all about it. I hope 
[ may always be worthy of her. 

John Burns. 
Well, George, you've always been a good son. 

George Burns. 
Dad, 1 want you to do me a favor. 

John Burns. 
What is it? 

George Burns. 
I want you to agree to my plan of consolidation of the Burns 
and Hawthorne flour mills. We will call it the Burns-Hawthorne 
Mills. 

John Burns. 
I'll agree, George — I'll agree to anything you want me to do. 
Have you talked it over with Mary Hawthorne? 

George Burns. 
No, not lately; but I know she will trust me. Hello, that 
sounds like them now. 

(Taxi horn blows. Enter La Salle, Hope and Mary.) 

La Salle. 
I congratulate you, Mr. Burns, your boy is a wonder. 

Hope. 
Oh, I knew that George would win. I knew we couldn't 
lose ! 

Mary. 
(Crying.) 
What can I say, Mr. Burns? I owe my life to you and your 
son. It was all perfectly wonderful ! 

John Burns. 
N"ow — now — sit — down; be calm — be calm. A little water, 
girls — a little water. 

(Stenographer brings water.) 

Be calm. George wants to consolidate the mills under his 
plan. It's agreed — I'll do anything you want to do. George has 
a wonderful plan; it's all right — we'll all be happy. 

Mary. 
(Crying.) 
I want to sell the mill. I never want to have anything to 
do with business again. 

George Burns. 
Never mind, you won't be troubled — dad will run the mill 
and I'll help the work along. It will all come out 0. K. I have 
the plan — you trust me, don't you? 



60 

Mary. 

You know I trust you. 

George Burns. 
Hope, my little girl, do you trust me? 

Hope. 
I always have. 

George Burns. 
Say you always will. Will you be my wife? 

Hope. 
What does mother say? 

George Burns. 
What does mother say? 

Mart. 
It would make me very happy. 

George Burns. 
What does Hope say? 

Hope. 
I will be Mrs. George Burns on one condition. 

George Burns. 
You may name any — every condition. 

Hope. 
Let me stay at home and never ask me to help run the mill. 

George Burns. 
I promise. 

(Curtain.) 
(End of Act IV.) 



,ifB'?«RY OF 



M 



